Down me Dad's

My father arranged some tickets to go and see Russia in London, and you don't turn down an offer like that, so I travelled down to his house the night before because it would be easier to get an early train. Being me, I took down some ales to try and compare notes on. As this is me, I took down a selection from which we chose what to have and then discussed the finer points of sours and pales because, well, I took down a sour and a pale.

The sour was Sur Simcoe by To Ol and the pale was an American Pale from the inimitable local brewery Urban Chicken being their Bantam. It sort of had to be done, you see, it wouldn't have been fair otherwise. Mind you, I set off from home quite late so it was properly dark by the time I got round to opening some of the delights and I very nearly forgot pictures, hence the picture of Daventry, because that's where the beers were had.

Near to where my father lives, but this is spring. It'll do.

Now that the preamble is out of the way, it's time to get to the beer. Would you like to know more?

The evening began with my father asking which one of the ales I had brought he would like. To be honest, I had chosen my selection with him in mind so I was able to answer pretty honestly with 'all of them' - however, I did not take a stout as the plan was to have something light and celebratory following the victory of his football team the previous weekend. On that note, he left me to pick the starter and so I plumbed, as it was a warm evening, to start with a sour as they seem to be doing best in the warmer weather and heavier air we've been having.

To Ol, Sur Simcoe, had been picked up at my local bottle shop a while ago and been on near constant standby in my fridge so it was well-chilled and well-behaved on the pour with not so much of a lasting head (though there was a head). It comes in at 4.5% ABV and it smelled gorgeous, just what was needed after the long and hot drive down. Good colour, catching the flicker of the TV nicely in the shot, and with a lovely heady bouquet of pineapple and mango, very tropical. I think I got passionfruit on the opening (I say think because I haven't had that in a long time) and then it gave a quick blast of the pineapple as it soured, but there was a discernible malt background to it, similar to the Breakfast of Champignons (here) but not as pronounced nor as sour. It calmed the mouth, surprisingly full and smooth, spilling down the sides to give something of a wave effect down the mouth and then slowly, stately almost, processing to the back of the throat where it basked in the cleared palate and tipped into the full aftertaste. Here the pineapple came into its own, very much dominating, and was joined by an unexpected bit of melon on the side because, well, why not? A light ABV meant that the juice held the day rather than the alcohol, and the whole thing became more of a refreshing drink in the evening. My father did not find it too sour, which was something of a concern, and it was mercifully lighter on the sour than some of the others that I've had recently (not that I'm complaining). A touch of bitterness perhaps but mainly held the fruity aspects and used that pineapple well. I am assuming that this is the influence of the simcoe, but I may be wrong. I did also find the can design most pleasing. In short, I liked this one a lot and it was something of a shame that I'd only taken one can, I could have easily had a pint of this on its own!

Next up was the Urban Chicken Bantam which had been picked up in sheer joy when I saw the Pit Pony in - you can find that review by clicking the word 'here' - a 5.5% ABV American Pale Ale (currently no tags exist for such a style). This was poured and I remembered to take a picture in the kitchen. Alas, for me, the glass for my father got most of the head and the aroma was a much fuller, more malty, bouquet of US-style hops. Good hit on the floral notes with some mango and citrus edges but a bigger and hoppier hit all round. It put me in mind of the hoppier ales that I have been lucky enough to have, a little bit like the stuff from Northern Monk that I had in Leeds so long ago (see here) and that is no bad thing. Easily the bigger hit of the two on the tongue, exploding quickly into proper APA hops and roiling over in a tidal wave of hoppy doom to the centre of the taste where the malt was allowdd to shine shot through with bullets of yeast on the bubbles. Here the gangster meets his end, here the gunfight on the bocage of Normandy is decided and here the rebels show their strength with a fusillade of AK-47 fire. Then the hops come back, with a vengeance, sweeping in like Apache attack helicopters to retake the tongue and fire down the sides with a withering spray of something lethal. In many ways this is like the boxing weight from which I assume it takes its name (I may be wrong) and it punches well above the alcohol volume. The effect is to bring a bit of proper Britishness to the whole colonial affair, ending with a softer aftertaste that, quite frankly, was good enough to call an end to the session (it was close to midnight) and retire to slumber for the journey in the morning to London.

As you may have gathered, my father's favourite of the evening was the Bantam as it did, for him, exactly what a good ale ought to do - being heavier on the malt and with a nice bitter end after some carefully selected hop notes. I would agree with him but for the fact that the drive down had been so hot and sweaty and thus I was very much in need of that sour Sur Simcoe that we had first. I fear that the situation may have put the Bantam at a disadvantage for my taste on the evening, which I had feared when I took it down but these are good to share, and that is a shame.

However, to talk in terms of winners is to miss the fact that both of these ales are lovely. They are easy to drink and very much inkeeping with this year's attempt to have more qualitative ales. My forays into the usual suspects of the kind that used to be the staple of this blog have affirmed that my tastebuds have adapted to these new ales and the old ones just... sadly, they just don't cut it. I'm not complaining, but I am becoming a beer snob. Now all I have to do is get an even bigger paunch and a bald patch and I shall be made.